Pretty Poison
by LuipaardJack
Summary: They are finally breathing together. Slash. Missing Series


**Warning(s): DiNozzo/McGee slash, mentions of a past relationship**

**Word Count: 696 words**

* * *

When Tony opens his eyes, he first thinks that he doesn't know where he is. Second, he thinks that he is warm, and very comfortable.

He feels someone's lips on his neck. He closes his eyes, and can't help the soft moan that escapes his lips, can't help shifting backwards so that he can feel more of McGee against him. The arm around his waist tightens and pulls him close.

He should know better. They should both know better. This, this _thing_ they have, just can't ever happen. Not again.

But it's hard to resist, even knowing that it was his entire fault -- except, how could he have resisted the combination of Tim, and his awesome TV, and re-learning how to play _Final Fantasy 7_, and _food_ --

_Oh, don't go there, boy. Don't go back to those memories, because then you'll just need and want with all your heart, and when Timmy-boy's hands are crawling under your pants like they are, that's the last thing you need. Just let him use you, boy, and then you can leave._

And then Tim's hands really do work their way into his pants, and he shudders and gasps and one of his arms twitches hard on the mattress.

Mattress. They're lying on Tim's bed, because Tim keeps his TV in his bedroom, and then Tony brought over the PlayStation 2 and the game, and asked if McGee would --

Tim's hands are warm and clever, and Tony whimpers some more, thinking, _oh damn I can't want this stop don't stop _and then --

"Nnn," he says, and his hips buck forward which makes Tim grasp him tightly, which makes him go _"Nnn!"_ and then McGee says something that might have been _"Tony"_ except that's ridiculous because --

Just because.

And, God, this feels great because they haven't done this since May, and that's seven months, and how did they go this long without these feelings, this intimacy, and Tony can't breathe, doesn't want to, because if he breathed then he might forget all over again. With Tim's warm, clever hands squeezing and stroking, and the familiar lips sucking on his neck, Tony suddenly finds himself looking back at the last few months since coming home as the vague wanderings of an amnesiac.

Why did he put a stop to this? What could have possible been worth giving this up, this weird _thing_ they have that is warm and good and frees his lungs and mouth to suck in cold, sweet air?

He can feel Tim's hard length pressed against his backside, and suddenly he _wants_ more intensely then he has for a long time.

Tony flips himself around on to his other side and captures Tim's mouth as snugly as he can. Tim makes a small noise and uses an arm to bring Tony closer, slipping a leg in between Tony's and using their combined weight to flip him on his back.

It's been a long time. Tony should know better. They should both know better. This, this _thing_ they have, just can't ever happen. Not again.

Tony bites and licks and kisses his way into bringing his legs up around Tim's waist. He already knows that this will not turn out well in the morning; they're flying right now, but the crash will come hard and sudden. He can already feel the edges of the misery this terrible mistake will cause in the bruises and bite marks appearing on his skin.

Tim has warm, clever hands. They slide under Tony's shirt, pressing against his ribcage, counting each piece of his thorax. Tim won't stop saying his name, whispering it like a prayer against his skin. Tony feels electrified, and he squeezes his legs against McGee's waist, pressing his groin against the tech's stomach. This garners a shudder, and McGee's teeth close down sharply on Tony's neck.

The crash will come suddenly; it will drag them down into anger and jealousy, and everything other emotion that contrasts the warm feeling that is spreading inside Tony's stomach, down between his legs, upwards to fill his chest.

The crash will come suddenly. Right now, neither DiNozzo nor Tim cares.


End file.
